


Depths of Love

by BigG1999



Series: ClexaWeek2020 [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Clexa Week 2020, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Eventual Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Grounder Culture, Minor Costia/Lexa (The 100), Past Costia/Lexa (The 100), Soulmates Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Tattoos, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22998772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigG1999/pseuds/BigG1999
Summary: Clarke lost her true love before she got the chance to cherish her.She's lost. Lexa died because she tried to save her. She doesn't want to be Clarke Griffin anymore, doesn't want this life anymore.(NOT A LOSTIA FIC! VERY CLEXA CENTERED. READ TO UNDERSTAND!)Clexa Week 2020 Day 3 Time Travel
Relationships: Clarke Griffin & Lexa, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Costia & Lexa (The 100), Costia/Lexa (The 100)
Series: ClexaWeek2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651840
Comments: 31
Kudos: 130
Collections: Clexaweek2020





	1. I don't want to be me...

**Author's Note:**

> I want to stress that even though this is tagged Lostia, it is 110% a Clexa story. As you read, you'll understand why it's tagged as it is.

_"You were right Clarke. Life is about more than just surviving.”_

Clarke shakes her head, attempting to clear the memory from her mind. The sight of Lexa laying on the bed, face clear of warpaint. Her face is clear of the burden normally upon her, causing her to look years younger. Eyes are wet and full of unshed tears with black blood dripping out the corner of her mouth. 

A shiver runs through her body as Clarke feels the ghost of their last kiss on her lips. She sniffles, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. 

“Wanheda. Rika will see you now,” a voice interrupts her personal moment, earning a quick nod.

Clarke walks through the small hut, entering the back room created for the sole purpose of tattooing. Blue eyes quickly scan the small room, looking for danger.

“You will find no danger here, Wanheda. I have been waiting for you,” a voice soothes as Rika herself enters the room carrying a bowl of water and one filled with a dark back liquid.

“Waiting for me?” Clarke questions suspiciously as she takes in the older woman. 

Rika is slightly taller than Clarke, with long flowing red hair that almost matches Clarke’s dyed red. Her blue eyes remind Clarke of her father’s, especially the way they seem to shine with happiness.

“Sha. It was prophesied you would come one day, yongon,” Rika explains softly as her blue eyes drink in the younger woman.

“I am no yongon,” Clarke states, then quieter, “Not anymore.”

Clarke is surprised as Rika reaches out, stroking the side of her face as she wipes away her tears. 

“We will create a mask for you. One only fitting for Wanheda herself,” Rika states.

“I don’t want to look like me,” Clarke confesses to the older woman.

Rika nods as she gently tilts the girls head up, her blue eyes scanning Clarke’s bare face.

“I have been waiting for you to come for a long time, Wanheda. My daughter spoke of you before she passed, and I am happy that this too has come true.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, what happened to her?”

Rika smiles sadly, her thumb gently caressing the side of Clarke’s face like only a mother can.

“She died for her love, to help them become the wonderful person they were meant to be.”

“And is their love still around?” Clarke questions.

Rika shakes her head, “Not anymore, but she’d do it another thousand times to allow her love to spend one more day walking this Earth.”

Clarke nods in understanding.

“This tattoo will not ease the pain you feel inside, Wanheda. The past is a thing nobody can change, no matter how we try.”

“I’m not trying to change it. It’s changed me.”

Rika nods, grabbing a washcloth and wiping the girl’s forehead.

“And so it will.”

Clarke says nothing as Rika starts marking her skin with charcoal, mapping out the tattoo.

* * *

Clarke stands in front of the small mirror, looking at the new bold black ink now a part of her face. The lines aren’t as thick as Clarke is used to seeing upon those in Trikru, Rika having stated that each clan has a different style, and this was to be Skikru’s, should more wish to mark themselves. Small line work, as they are now for living in the skies, they shouldn’t have the same thick, grounding, lines as Trikru. 

The ink starts in the middle of her forehead, trailing down her nose, then branching off, swirls hugging the underneath of her eyes, a few trailing downwards, much like Lexa’s well-known face paint, but tastefully done. There are three small circles trailing down the middle of her chin, just like the small break that had been in Lexa’s tattoo. 

“I barely recognize you, Clarke, you look like some grounder!” 

Her mother’s words ring in her ears as she runs a hand through her stained red hair, one side of it gone, what’s left cut short, totally different to her normal long blonde locks. The ink covering her face doesn’t change its structure, but it does create an intimidating aura around her. 

“I don’t want to be me,” she confesses, before throwing herself on her small bed, “Not without her,” she sobs, breaking down into tears.

Slowly, the darkness creeps in, and Clarke falls asleep.

* * *

“What the fuck?” Clarke questions as she comes to, her mind filled with memories that aren’t hers.

“Get up! The summit is happening today!” A voice calls as someone pounds on the door.

Clarke looks around, taking in the room around her. It’s the room from her new memories, one she’s had for years and years according to them. She’s grown up here, in this small hut that she visited for the first time yesterday to get her tattoos.

“Get up!” Rika yells, entering the room, Clarke yelping in surprise. 

Rika’s brows furrow as she looks at her daughter, surprised by the yelp. 

“What did you do?” Rika questions, Clarke just now realizing she’s talking in Trigedasleng instead of English, but she understands completely.

“How did you do that?” Rika questions again, cupping Clarke’s face, eyes looking at the fresh tattoos.

“You did it,” Clarke whispers in English.

Rika’s brows furrow further as she looks into blue eyes, completely confused.

“What?” she questions in trigedasleng.

“Sit down Rika,” Clarke orders, sitting up.

“Rika?” she questions.

“Nomon, please,” Clarke amends, pulling the older woman, now younger than she was yesterday, down to sit next to her.

“You are different,” Rika states.

“You have to have an open mind about this because this is crazy for me too,” Clarke says in English.

“When did you learn Gonasleng?”

Clarke reaches out, grabbing the older woman’s hand, their connection feels new and old at the same time. Memories swirl around her head of growing up with this woman as her Nomon, just as ones of growing with her mom. Walls covered top to bottom in charcoal drawings, in the ark the drawings were of Earth, but here they were of space. 

Clarke wills her Nomon to understand, “I don’t know how this is possible, but I’m not from here. My real name is Clarke Griffin. I grew up in space on the ark before being sent down to Earth. A lot of things happened, but I just met you yesterday, when you gave me these tattoos.”

Rika is silent, blue eyes scanning the lines etched on the blonde’s face.

“They do not look like Trikru,” she mumbles.

“They’re for Skaikru, we are our own clan.”

“And we are not at war? I would kill any other member of a clan who came to me, especially one as young as careless as you.”

Clarke grins at the assessment.

“What could you have done to earn a gona tattoo? You are a painter, not a gona.”

“I am Wanheda.”

“Wanheda? No,” Rika dismisses, “This is some crazy dream you had. Come, we must see the conclave.”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head, “It isn’t a dream. Leska kom Trikru will win, and become Heda.”

“You are speaking crazy, Leska doesn’t stand a chance against Luna.”

Clarke shakes her head, after seeing Lexa fight she is sure Lexa could take Luna, but that is years in the future, who knows what changed from now to then.

“Luna will flee and create Floukru, refusing to fight.”

“You are speaking crazy,” Rika restates, shaking her head.

“Then let’s go, you’ll see,” Clarke says, standing up. 

“No. You are to stay here while you speak of this craziness. I will return when the conclave is over.”

Clarke sighs but agrees. She isn’t sure if she can handle seeing Lexa anyways.

* * *

“You were right,” Rika states as she enters the room. 

“Is Lexa okay?” Clarke questions.

“Leska won. The healers will tend to her wounds.” Rika says, carefully looking at the girl, “She is Heda now. She is no longer Leska kom Trikru, so why do you call her such?”

“Lexa is so much more than Heda,” Clarke whispers.

Rika’s brows raise, “You care for her.”

Clarke bites her bottom lip, eyes filling with tears, “I love her.”

Rika’s heart sinks at the young girl before her, “You lost her.”

Clarke breaks, the pain hitting her again. Rika sighs, pulling the girl she’s called her daughter for years close, holding her. 

“I do not know how this is possible, but I believe you, yongon,” Rika says, pulling her close. 

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t just go and tell her I love her, she has no idea who I am,” Clarke whispers into her shoulder. 

“You are both goufas, her barely twelve summers. You do not know what love is yet.” 

Clarke looks down at herself, realizing how her body itself has changed, still her, but underdeveloped. 

“How old am I?”

“You just pasted your fourteenth summer. I had hoped you’d be finding a houmon soon, but I see that is not going to happen.”

“Considering I’m really nineteen and still haven’t found one, I’d push that out of the window,” Clarke jokes.

“I thought you had Lexa?” Rika questions, confused.

Clarke sighs, “We… She’s Heda, and I'm the leader of my clan. Things are, well, were difficult. We…” flashes of their night together pass through Clarke’s mind, then the vision of Lexa laying on the table.

“She is to be here tomorrow for a tattoo,” Rika states, bringing Clarke out of her memory.

“Her back tattoo,” Clarke whispers, the image of it still fresh in her mind, “She got that at twelve?”

“Maybe, I do not know what she plans.”

Clarke nods.

“Go to sleep yongon. We will talk more when the sun rises,” Rika whispers, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s forehead.

“What’s my name?” Clarke questions softly, her memories not telling her.

_“Kostia.”_


	2. You're the One.

Clarke watches from the backroom as Lexa enters their small hut. At twelve she still carries some baby fat around her face, rounding out features that will one day be sharp enough to cut those who merely look.

Clarke scowls as Titus enters behind Lexa, telling her that a tattoo for those who are gone does no good. Clarke can’t help herself, hate for the bald man boiling over as she steps from the back room.

“She is Heda, she can do as she wishes,” she spits, blue eyes glaring at the man.

“Kostia!” Rika scolds, “You can not talk to a flamekeeper like that! Apologize now!”

“No, she is right,” Lexa states, pausing to take a deep breath before turning towards the bald man, “Titus, you as dismissed for the rest of the day.”

“But Heda-”

Lexa’s hand waves, cutting him off effectively.

“I am Heda. I killed my siblings yesterday, I would not get on my bad side,” she warns and in the moment Clarke sees the woman she will grow to be.

Titus dips his head, “Sha Heda.”

Titus sends a glare towards Clarke before he leaves, a look she is very used to. Clarke simply rolls her eyes at the dramatic old man, younger now than before.

Lexa looks at the older girl, green eyes studying her, but she says nothing, instead, turning to Rika.

“Shall we begin?”

“Sha Heda, right this way,” Rika nods, guiding the twelve-year-old to the side room to get her back tattoo.

Clarke sighs, watching the young version of her love. She’s so unlike herself, yet exactly how she pictured her. An idea pops into her head, rushing to her bedroom to find the very picture she drew today. 

_ I shouldn’t interrupt Rika when she’s working, but what if she doesn’t get the tattoo right? Wouldn’t that change everything? Yeah, Rika in the future said the past can’t be changed, but what if it can? _

Clarke knocks on the shut door. Rika is glaring when she opens it, but Clarke doesn’t say a word as she hands the paper to the older woman, not bothering to speak.

“This is exactly what she wants,” Rika whispers, fingers tracing the circles.

“This is what she has,” Clarke answers before turning on her heel and going back to her new, yet old, bedroom.

* * *

Clarke settles into her routine quickly. The grounder life inside the small village is nice, carts of goods passing through the village multiple times a day on their way to Polis, all willing to trade. Word travels fast from Polis, updates on the young Heda growing into herself. Clarke can’t help the pride that fills her chest when she hears of Lexa demanding unity across the clans, such an idea shaking the world around her. 

Months pass, Clarke growing closer to Rika as the summer turns to winter. Winter is hard, the traveling carts few and far between, even less willing to trade their limited supplies to the small village, instead, heading straight to Polis itself. 

“I’ll go hunt,” Clarke offers, pulling on a coat made from deer hide.

“You don’t know how to hunt,” Rika dismisses with a wave of her hand.

“I took out a panther by myself just a year ago. I think I can handle some deer, Nomon,” Clarke rolls her eyes.

“It’s much too cold for you, yongon.”

Clarke sighs, turning to the blonde woman, “I’m not going to die Nomon. Not from cold.”

Rika tilts her head slights, blue eyes narrowing at the girl she considers her daughter.

“What are you going to die from?”

Clarke closes her eyes, regretting her comment.

“You know, don’t you?”

Clarke bites her bottom lip, nodding slowly.

“When?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke confesses.

Rika nods, biting her own lip before continuing, “It’s because of her, right?”

“She would never hurt me,” Clarke defends quickly.

Rika nods, getting her answer. She’s silent for a moment, her blue eyes connecting with Clarke’s.

“She died because of you too,” she says, not asking, merely stating a fact.

Clarke blinks back her tears before nodding, once.

Rika nods, closing her eyes before speaking.

“Ridiyo Hodnes Wamplei Soujon,” Rika mumbles to herself, taking a deep breath before explaining, “There are legends of those whose love are so strong that they travel after death to be together.”

Clarke’s eyebrows raise, “What?”

“There have been some that have said they are from the future to be with their love. I never did believe in it, since they all end up dead.”

Clarke chuckles sadly, “Doesn’t everybody?”

Rika nods as she pulls the younger girl into a hug.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she admits softly.

“I’ll come back Nomon. As Clarke, I’ll come back.”

“After Leska dies?”

“Yes. I come to you, and you give me exactly what I ask for.”

“We still have time though, right?”

“Yes. Now, let me go and find us some dinner.”

Rika laughs but allows the girl to pull away from the hug after pressing a kiss to her forehead.

* * *

Clarke grunts, pulling the dead weight of the deer into her small cart, ready to share the meat with whoever needs it and hopefully have someone else clean it. 

“You stupid fucking deer, why are you so heavy?” she curses, finally lifting it enough to set in the cart. 

An amused chuckle causes her to spin around, knife drawn from her belt in reflex. Standing before her is Lexa. 

In the year since she’s seen her, Lexa has changed. Gone is the soft roundness to her face, replaced with the sharp jawline. She stands taller, chest puffed in pride instead of slumped under the weight of fresh death. 

“You’re the one who designed my tattoo,” Lexa greets, a small smirk on her face as she looks at the slightly older girl, still panting from the struggle of moving the deer.

Their first meeting plays through Clarke’s head.

_ “You’re the one who burned three-hundred of my warriors alive.” _

_ “You’re the one who sent them there to kill us.” _

“You’re the one who became Heda,” Clarke settles on as she puts her knife away, loving the twitch of Lexa’s lips as she fights a smile.

“Sha. I am Heda, and who are you? I was under the impression you were Haka, nou Gona, yet you speak Gonasleng perfectly,” Lexa questions, keeping her distance from the blonde.

Clarke shrugs, “I’m both,” she answers simply, picking up the end of her cart.

“Where are you going?” Lexa questions, following Clarke.

“I have to get someone to skin this, and I’d like to share. We’re a bit low on food right now, Lexa,” Clarke says simply. 

Clarke groans as she hits the ground, the younger girl above her with a knife to her throat. Blue eyes widen as she realizes her mistake, her heart beating fast, although she isn’t sure if it’s because of the knife at her throat or the way Lexa’s eyes keep trailing down to her lips.

“You know that you could die for that, correct?” Lexa questions, green eyes focusing on blue.

“Sha, Heda,” Clarke states, “Moba.”

“Who are you?” Lexa questions again, taking in the tattoos covering Clarke’s face.

“I’m Costia,” Clarke whispers. 

Lexa slides the knife back into her sleeve but stays on top of the older girl, straddling Clarke’s upper stomach.

“And why do you think you can call me by my given name?” Lexa questions.

“Aren’t you more than just Heda?” Clarke questions. 

Clarke watches as Lexa clenches her jaw, green eyes studying here. 

“You are odd, Kostia kom Trikru,” Lexa states, standing up and offering a hand to the fallen girl.

“I have to make an impression on Heda,” Clarke jokes, grabbing Lexa’s forearm to pull herself up.

“You already have,” Lexa admits, eyes once again focusing on Clarke’s lips. 

“So I heard you want to unite the clans?” Clarke questions, picking up the end of her cart again.

“Sha. We need to take out the Maunon.”

“Yes,” Clarke nods, painful memories coming back as they walk into the town, “Why are you here Heda?” 

“I am on my way to meet with another clan about joining the Kongeda. If I am successful I will bring back food for this village.”

“You should visit me,” Clarke suggests before knocking on the door of the best cook in town.

“I could use another tat,” Lexa states, “If I can get them to agree, I will celebrate with one.”

“You should get one on your arm,” Clarke says, gently touching the spot she knows the tattoo will be.

“Will you design it again?” 

“If you want me to.”

“I do.”

“Then I will,” Clarke nods as the cook finally opens the door, a huge smile on his face as he takes in the deer.

“Heda, you are more than welcome to join us,” he says, bowing his head slightly at the young girl.

“Mochof, but I must get back,” she bows her head respectfully before turning to the other girl.

“I will see you again, Kostia,” she says, looking into blue eyes.

“Sha. Leida Heda,” Clarke answers, bowing her head at the brunette walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super excited for this fic! I hope you all love it as much as I do. I had such a hard time thinking of a time travel AU to write, and this popped in my head and I just HAD to write it. I've never seen it done before and just... Wow. I love it so much, not to toot my own horn, but I love this idea so much.  
> ALSO  
> Check out the cool artwork on my Tumblr by some very amazing artists who helped bring my vision to life!  
> 


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